


Words and Sounds (we’re falling together)

by starlit_cities



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, spoilers up to and inlcuding 2x05, teen for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlit_cities/pseuds/starlit_cities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia isn't the only genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words and Sounds (we’re falling together)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know.
> 
> Inspired by a line in [this](http://wordswithwerewolves.tumblr.com/post/26092993595/episode-2x5-venomous-aka-i-now-pronounce-you-derek) post by wordswithwerewolves on tumblr.
> 
> The line:
> 
> "Stiles gets all snippy about how the book is in archaic Latin that none of them can read, but I think he’s just pissy because he’s finally run into something that his giant brain can’t crack."

Stiles only needs to see something once to get it. Or read it. Mostly. Sometimes. It’s complicated. He’s not a genius in one thing like Lydia is with math or science. He’s really good at a lot of little things. And he reads. A ton. So he knows a lot of useless information because school gets boring. By the time they reach a chapter in class he’s usually three or four ahead and who wants to reread economics or chemistry. But history and English he’s perfect. He can see it. He can get it. Once it’s there, once it’s in his mind it never leaves. And he likes that. He loves that. Every word is important, it has meaning, and it takes up space. Words take up space, so he loves him because there’s so much space to fill. And if he’s got words then there’s less space and less silence and just less.

So, yeah, words. That’s what he’s good at. And not just English, but German because that’s what all the stories his mom used to read to him were in and French because Lydia makes it sound like perfection and Latin because it’s the beginning of everything and he likes to connect things. Likes the way words can fit like puzzle pieces locking into place in his mind where they can never leave.

The only downside is sometimes he gets trapped there. Putting the pieces together and connecting all the tiny puzzles into a bigger one until the words take shape in his mouth. And he’ll ramble to anyone that’s listening, ramble to an empty room if there’s not. But his tongue stumbles and trips, ruins the perfect words. Because even though words are flawless Stiles isn’t.

It’s his tongue, his mouth that ruins his genius. It’s why people forget, why they overlook him.

On the hardest days he reminds himself that he wants it to be this way.

Stiles sailed from the end of first grade right on into the third grade. The seating chart had him sitting right behind Scott, but in front of Jackson and Lydia was to his right in the same row as Scott. Jackson had kicked his chair continuously and poked him in the back with his pencil when Mrs. Greene wasn’t looking. Lydia never asked a question, but always had an answer. Scott fell asleep, head tipped back, mouth hanging open until Danny accidentally dropped his book on the ground and Scott startled so bad he fell out of his seat.

At recess he sat on the edge of the sandbox until Scott wandered over.

“Where’d ya move from?” he asked, kicking at the wooden planks that formed the box.

“Nowhere,” Stiles answered. At Scott’s confused look, which Stiles would later learn was a pretty permanent expression, he elaborated. “I skipped second grade.”

“No wonder you’re so short,” Jackson said from behind them. He kicked a bit of sand at the two of them. It didn’t go high enough to reach Stiles’ eyes, just landed harmlessly on his thigh. Lydia shoved Jackson and he fell into the sand. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and stared at Stiles, one hand on her hip.

“As long as you’re not smarter than me we won’t have a problem,” she said before walking off.

“I’m going to marry her,” he told Scott, eyes wide with love and awe. Scott laughed, pushed his shoulder, and then ran off calling back that he was it.

So it’s not that no one knows he isn’t smart, it’s just that he’s been around them all so long it’s like they forget. And so when fourth grade rolls around and his mind starts to wander the teacher has him tested. They want to move him to the fifth grade. He says no, because he likes Scott and he loves Lydia and Jackson has grown on him. He doesn’t want to start over. It’s the year his mom gets sick, so his dad doesn’t make him.

Stiles doesn’t start hoarding useless facts until he’s 11 and his mom dies. A week later there’s a big fire that kills almost an entire family and his dad throws himself into the case. That’s okay, though. Stiles doesn’t mind. He just takes the opportunity to read every book his mom owned. They’re all in the room right off the entryway that should have been a parlor, but was really his mom’s craft room/library. His dad had built the shelves so they reached from the floor to the ceiling and even then books still had to be piled in neat stacks on the floor because it wasn’t enough. They weren’t sorted by title or author or genre, but by color because his mom was awesome that way. And not just some random coloring system, but by the rainbow, so it started with red and spread out all the way to violet.

His mom had every kind of book: gardening, cooking, craft, memoirs, text books, poetry, classics, new age, and true crime. It was endless. Even now, he’s only just started on the blue colored books.

So he knows lots of random things, like flowering begonias flourish in southern light, that Al Capone opened a soup kitchen during the Depression, and that the word dream most likely originates from the Western Germanic word _draugmus_ meaning deception or illusion.

He begins to think none of it matters though, because his genius isn’t with math or science, it isn’t useful to anyone. Sure, he gets it and he can do it, but who cares about numbers when there are words.

But then Scott gets bitten by a werewolf and all of his useless knowledge becomes relevant. All those days spent getting to know the librarian come in handy because she doesn’t bat an eye when he checks out all those dusty books on werewolves and myths. There’s only so much the internet can provide, after all. He doesn’t tell Scott or Allison, but he’s ecstatic when he learns Gerard keeps a Bestiary because, yes, yes this is what he’s good for. This means he’s useful.

Then he’s not useful because it’s not in Latin, it’s in Archaic Latin.

“Yes, Scott there is a difference,” he says, running a hand over his hair and down his face. “It’ll take me awhile. I know the theoretical differences between the two, but not the actual difference, so I’m going to have to look it up and then…” but he stops because he’s lost Scott. Scott, who sighs, like Stiles has just lost all of his usefulness again.

And dammit that just makes him more determined to translate the beast of a book. Stiles smiles to himself at that. Heh, beast, bestiary. He’s pretty funny. Anyway, he sits down with his Latin IV text book and looks for references and authors and experts. Then he finds those books and reads them and does the whole process over. He starts up a correspondence with professors at Brown and Cornell and Oxford.

He was kind of disappointed that Gerard had gone the way of technology, so Stiles buys a black, leather bound journal and translates everything into English. Of course, he also scans it all onto his computer and a USB drive because he’s not a moron.

In all it takes a little over a month and half. He doesn’t think that’s too bad considering he had to learn a new language to do it. The whole thing is over two hundred pages long and fills up almost four journals.

Obviously, the translation is no good to them for the kanima because, hello, Jackson. But now that that’s all sorted out, and Jackson is still very much alive and on their side and not killing people, Stiles thinks it’ll still be good to have. He’s just not ready when no one seems to care.

“That’s great Stiles,” Jackson says, “you’re a few weeks too late with that one.” Stiles’ heart sinks all the way to the soles of his shoes.

“Maybe we can use it some other time.” At least Scott is trying to be helpful. He sucks at it though.

“It’s just a stupid, old book.” Erica continues to sharpen her nails on the pipe she has in her lap. “That little bit we had about the kanima was completely worthless.”

He looks to Derek with what little hope he has left. Because Derek listens to him, sometimes at least, when it’s important. Derek just stares back, not saying a word. And if he spent all that time on an apparently useless book then what the hell is he? Stiles throws the four journals on the floor. It doesn’t quite make the loud, reverberating slap he was hoping for, so he throws down the USB stick for good measure.

“Seriously? No, I mean seriously!” he snaps. “Fuck you! Fuck you all! I translated that entire damn book. Do you know who speaks Archaic Latin? No one, that’s who. So _futue te ipsum_ and that means go fuck yourself in Latin, which none of you knows. And that’s what I’m useful for,” he says halfway up the stairs. “And you live in an abandoned subway station so who are you to be telling someone whether they’re useful or not. I mean when did Beacon Hills even ever have a subway station? So you can take that translation and shove it up your ass because I’m done. You can do all the werewolf crime fighting on your own.”

He makes it out without anyone stopping him. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed by that or not. When he gets to his jeep and opens his door though Derek is already sitting in the passenger seat.

“How in the… you know what I do not even care anymore. Get out of my jeep.” He climbs in and starts the engine. He’s definitely not going to look at Derek. They sit there for a while, the jeep idling loudly. Stiles notes that it probably needs a tune up.

“You’re not useless,” Derek finally says.

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbles, because for all his genius he’s still a sullen teenager at times.

The silence stretches out again. Stiles twitches for something to do or say, but he’s not ready to give in. Not just yet. He wants to make this last as long as possible. Wants Derek to know that he can do something, that he’s smart and can help. In a few days this will be gone, everyone will forget and he’ll go back to Stiles the spaz instead of being Stiles the genius. And he likes being the genius way more than he likes being the comedic relief.

“ _Futue te ipsum_? Really?” Derek finally breaks the silence. Stiles almost lets out a breath of relief. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer.

“I can say it in a hundred languages.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles nods. Derek reaches over and settles a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck.

“You’re pack” Derek says, his hand squeezing a bit, “even when you think you’re useless.”

He hangs his head and lets Derek’s thumb stroking just below his ear soothe him.

“One day I’m going to get you to realize you’re not.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, “okay,” and lets him.


End file.
